


All That Glitters

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, New Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 03:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13227186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ocean blue eyes looking in mineI feel like I might sink and drown and dieJohn meets Sherlock at a New Years party.





	All That Glitters

When I saw you I was torn between staring for much, much longer than socially acceptable and perhaps a little more after, and immediately turning around and going back home, because I shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of temptation in my life.

Turned around—looked back—you again—turned back—a step closer.

You raised your head and liquid lightning shot through my veins.

One look.

I was teetering on the edge of a precarious precipice; you grabbed my gaze and stole my breath and I toppled down that cliff. You waltzed in and made yourself comfortable in a spot smack-dab in the centre of my mind.

Languidly leaning against the backdrop of gold numbers of the new year. Dark messy curls that tumbled down your forehead. Long, pale fingers wrapped around a champagne flute. Smirk just crooked enough to be subtle. How did you make it look so easy to look like that?

_Afghanistan or Iraq?_

Afghanistan, I said, surprised. Carelessly batting away the part of me that immediately latched on to how you spoke, a lilt and a purr, like music, smooth and rich. _Sorry, how did you… ?_

Smirk less subtle now. You kept talking, and my life broke into before and after.

Click of the q in Iraq.

_How—_

How did you do that, how in the world—

Words bubbled out and over,  _brilliant, fantastic, wonderful._ Other phrases, barely held back, halted on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to take you home. I wanted you to take me home. I was going to faint if you got one centimetre closer, and maybe even if you didn’t.

I couldn’t stand it.

11:55. Shots. Chanting and cheering— _bottoms up!_

You: drifted back to the corner. Arms crossed. Eyes like daggers made of blazing blue fire. Barest trace of a smile.

I glared, slammed back another drink that didn’t burn as much as you looking at me.

Utterly ridiculous. I wanted you to come over. I wanted you to talk to me in that outrageous posh accent, I wanted to run my fingers through your hair _(infuriating)_ , I wanted to rest my head against your chest and hear your heart. I wanted to take your face in my hands and kiss you until you stopped looking so aggravatingly gorgeous. But it would only make you look better, and that made me livid.

Thirty seconds.

Fuck it.

The carpet sparkles, speckled with confetti.

You don’t take your eyes off me. Kick off the wall with the foot that’s resting against it, take three steps. Open your mouth.

No, I decide immediately. I’m not going to let you be the first to speak.

“I’m John. Watson.”

Your smile: equally wicked and charming. Your name is Sherlock Holmes.

Eyes crinkling at the corners. Small corner of your lip quirking up.

I want to kiss it, I realise. I want to kiss you.

_You’re gorgeous._

Pause.

Did I say that out loud?

The quirk in the corner spreads into a grin.

_(ten!... nine!... eight!...)_

“Do you want to?” Blurted. I have misplaced my mind-to-mouth filter. Pachinko balls ricochet in my chest.

“Want to what?”

_(five!... four!...)_

_fuckitfuckitfuckit_

Tiptoes.

Grab your face and pull you in. Pachinko balls shatter and explode.

You gasp, jolt, but you don’t pull back—

Crowd you against the wall—closer, more, ohgodyes—

Hand in my hair, the other sliding down my back. Heat through my jumper.

Absolutely maddening.

You’re fucking gorgeous.

Your voice is a low murmur, sweeps through my body in shivers.

“That’s not what people normally say.”

Twist and lean. Huff a laugh against your ear. Nip gently.

“Take me home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration from Taylor Swift's "Gorgeous". Happy New Year! 2018... woah.


End file.
